


Mixed up and backwards

by fredthemoose



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: England is the bad guy, Long, M/M, More than just smut, Slash, Slight Eng/Ame, The plot has a mind of it's own
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-17
Updated: 2014-06-06
Packaged: 2017-10-23 20:07:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/254386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fredthemoose/pseuds/fredthemoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>America is lonely because England is spending to much time wit his other colonies. France Kidnaps America while England is away and America's feelings begin to confuse him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a really odd story that I started a long time ago. It started as a UK/US fic with France as the bad guy... but some where along the line the plot sort of changed itself.  
> This is the first half to the fic. I'm not sure if it's good enough to continue or not, especially with the strange pairing and all.
> 
> Please, read through it and tell me what you think.  
> It has not been beta read yet so try to ignore all my bad grammar and spelling!

America sipped the cup of tea he had made. England was so fond of tea, and now that America was grown, England insisted that America drink a cup to wake up in the morning. America sighed as he read over the newspaper, letting the warm liquid slide down his throat. He set the teacup down on the table gently, looking around the kitchen.

England wasn’t here. America wished England was here with him, sitting on the other side of the table, talking to him about some world issue. But he wasn’t. England was almost always gone lately. Dealing with this country or the next, always out and about the world, leaving America to his own devices.

America was lonely. He missed England’s stern words, his strong hand on his shoulder, those ridiculous eyebrows furrowing when America did something wrong. Even when England was at home, he was locked away in his office, still working furiously with the other nations. England was supposed to take care of him, but now that America had grown up, England almost ignored him.

A loud knock came from the door, pulling America from his depressing thoughts. He didn’t need to go to the door to know who it was. France. Ever since England had left 3 weeks ago, France had been coming over every day. It was no secret that France wanted him, and the only thing that ever kept him away was England. Now England was gone, leaving America to fend for himself.

Yesterday France had actually crawled threw the window to see him. The Frenchman was always flirting and hitting on America, trying to have his way with the younger Nation. America was having none of it. He knew France only wanted I’m because he belonged to England. Though England didn’t want him in the same way; England wanted him as a brother, though America was never allowed to actually call him that. England was suspicious that calling him Nii-san would make him a terrible protector, like so many other’s had. It didn’t change the fact that England was unfortunately just that, his protector, and nothing more.

“Alfred! Alfred mon love! I know you are in there!” More knocking from the persistent Nation.

America sipped his tea again, resisting the urge to chug the hot liquid. The knocking had stopped, had France left already?

The phone rang, America springing up excitedly and rushing to the receiver.  
“Arthur?” He spoke hopefully into the speaker, not able to stop himself from smiling.  
“Alfred! How are you?” America loved that voice. He felt his entire body relax before responding.  
“I’m good, a little lonely. The roses are growing so nicely here! They need your love, I’m afraid if I do anything I’ll ruin them.” He began pacing, never able to stay still when England was around, even if he was half the world away.  
“Well you don’t have to do much. Just water them 3 times a week you git. If you do that they should bloom beautifully in no time.” He could practically hear England’s thoughts, screaming ‘Idiot’ through his voice. “There is a reason I’m calling though.”

America stopped his pacing suddenly. That didn’t sound good.  
“You see… I’m going to be away a little longer than I first thought.” America could feel his heart sink. Longer?  
“I don’t know exactly when I’ll be coming home. So keep watering the roses for me. Alright?”  
“Yea! No problem! I can definitely take care of that for you. What do you think I am? An idiot or something? Jeeze.” He put on his best farce, forcing the sadness and disappointment out of his voice for the sake of his protector. He almost smiled when England chuckled into the receiver. Sighing before he continued.  
“I’ll be home as soon as possible. Make sure you lock those doors. Good-bye.”

America continued to hold the phone, pressing it against his ear, even as England hung up.

The phone dropped to the floor with a smash, America yelping as hands made their way around his waist. America’s entire body tensed from the unwanted touch, his breath halting in his lungs. How had France found his way in?  
“Arthur isn’t coming home is he?” The words were spoken in a low tone right beside America’s ear, the hot breath tickling his skin.  
“That has nothing to do with you. You slimy pervert.” America just wanted to be alone. He could only mask his disappointment for so long, and he didn’t want France anywhere near him when he finally broke.

“But it does, mon cher. I has everything to do with me.” The arms tightened, and for some reason, it didn’t bother America. He felt safe, like when England hugged him.  
“Leave me alone Francis. I can’t handle this right now.” He was so close to breaking. Why was France still here?  
“I’m not going to leave you alone _now_. That would be rude.”  His arms came away from America, only to grab his shoulders and turn him around.

America’s eyes were red, moments away from spilling tears from his saddened heart.  
“Don’t deny you are lonely, let me be here for you while England is not.” France smiled. It was sweet and caring as his arms returned to America, pulling him into an embrace.

America couldn’t hold it in much longer. He pushed away from France and bolted to his room, shutting the door and leaning against it his eyes screwed shut, keeping back the tears that threatened to fall. England was always to busy to be at home with America. He never had time to just sit down and have a chat, just to BE with America.

America wanted to be held by England more than anything. Be held like France held him. To be loved, to be taken away into a world all of it’s own, made of nothing but England, himself, and pleasure. However that would never happen. England was busy with his other colonies, Africa being the most needy right now.

He slumped to the floor in defeat. England didn’t need him. He was just another possession of the larger country, nothing more. It was all to much, America slumping to the floor like a child’s doll, a useless heap of blood bones and skin, his tears finally escaping his eyes. He cried hard, tears flowing from his eyes, a river of sadness from the depths of his soul.

America vaguely noticed the door creep open. He knew it was France, and though he hated letting the older nation see him like this, he was far past the point of caring. A hand was placed gently on his shoulder, and America shied away, his body jerking from the touch. He wanted to scream. To yell at France and tell him to get the fuck out;  but all he could do was sob. Words wouldn’t from in his mouth, each time he tried to think, pain would well in his heart.

“Alfred. Alfred it’s all ok.” He jerked and pulled away as France’s arms pull his body towards the older man, but he was in no state to fight, and France easily moved his arms and pulled his smaller frame into his embrace.

“It’s not ok.” America mumbled, tears still leaking from his eyes despite his best efforts to hide them.

“Do not worry about Arthur. His actions are inexcusable.”  America looked up momentarily, his red eyes still dripping tears as he watched the Frenchman’s reactions. “He left you Alfred. He leaves you here, alone in his home, with no freedoms or company. He goes away for months, sometimes even years and does not even think twice about it. It’s shameful, that someone should mistreat such a beautiful land such as you.” Those blue eyes, just a shade darker than his own looking back at him.

Frances’ face was calm, gentle; his normal perverted sneaky looks had been replaced. America found himself unable to pull away from France, even as the older Nation continued speaking.

“He abuses you, uses you, he never appreciates you Alfred. Not like I would.” His voice was soft, but there was a hint of anger in his words. “He’s after another colony right now, you know. Canada. He left him alone of years, now that he might loose Canada he’s fighting for him. So greedy! He wants everyone, to keep you locked away in his little toy cabinet of colonies; paying his high taxes and using you for all your worth.”

Was France being truthful in this? Was England really just trying to keep all his colonies to himself, using him for all he was worth? What would happen when America stopped being useful… Would England throw him away? Was he already useless? Was that why England was never home with him anymore.

“He doesn’t want you anymore Alfred. You were his toy, and he has grown bored of you.”  Alfred shook his head, closing his eyes tightly as if that would keep the truth away.  
“He doesn’t appreciate you like I do Alfred. I will never get bored of you.” His voice lost the angry tinge, now it lowered, became more smooth, the sound doing interesting things to the American’s train of thought. “Let me hold you Alfred. Come back to France with me. Leave this insufferable bastard behind. Let me treat you as you should be, pampered and spoiled.” France’s mouth dipped low to America’s ear, whispering those wicked words hotly into his ear.

“I can’t Francis.” America pushed himself away from France’s body. “I Need to stay and wait for Arthur!” America’s voice rose, more tears flowing from his eyes and he pushed himself away from France, standing and running from the room. He didn’t make it far. France was to quick, his arms wrapping around America and pulling him back.

“Leave me alone!” America screamed, turning and raising his hand to punch the damn pervert in the face. France was all to aware of his intentions as America let his fit loose, the Frenchman easily raising his own hand, strongly grabbing America’s wrist, his eyes sternly boring into the younger man’s own.

“Alfred.” He spoke the word deeply, his voice taking on a stern angry tone. “Alfred. I came here today to take you. And I will not leave without accomplishing my goal.”

America had no time to react as France harshly pulled their bodies together, his mouth covering America’s before the smaller man could protest. The kiss was hard, America refusing to open his mouth to France’s questing tongue. He was frozen, not able to move as France’s mouth pushed against his own. It wasn’t right, it wasn’t supposed to be France.

America opened his eyes, looking into blue, not green. He felt France’s tongue press up against his lips once again, the Frenchman’s other hand coming around and groping his bottom. He opened his mouth to protest, giving France the time to thrust his tongue into the American’s unguarded mouth.

The hand holding his wrist loosened, long slender fingers moving to hold his neck in place as France’s tongue plundered his mouth. America stopped struggling. There was no way out of this now. France was to strong, was to good at getting what he wanted. Those delicate hands playing with the strands of hair at the nape of hi neck caused shutters to run through his body. The arm holding him, _pressing_ him just so against France made him feel safe and wanted.

America closed his eyes, giving up, allowing France to do as he pleased. Maybe, just maybe if he tried hard enough, he could pretend.

France knew to take this cue, picking America up and lying him on the bed, keeping him preoccupied, kissing him with all the passion and skill he could muster.

The hand was to delicate as they wrapped around his shame.

He saw only blue not green as his eyes shot open in pleasure.

His nails scraping down the others back, leaving the skin angry and red.

Fingers to long and slender as they moved inside him.

Grabbing onto long silky hair he could have sworn was short and scruffy.

The voice was wrong, speaking dirty words, instead of words of encouragement.

If he tried hard enough, maybe he could pretend.

France was gentle and caring as he wrapped America in a clean blanket, covering the exhausted man’s body and carrying him out of England’s house.

“I will never be bored of you Alfred. I will love you like you should have been from the beginning. You were meant to be with me.” Those words, so sweet, yet with an after taste more sour than the most ripe lemon.  America just nodded, both his body and soul defeated and broken.

France took him aboard his finest vessel. Mahogany wood, gold and jewels from the farthest nations of the world. Sheets of silk and fine wine at any time of day. This was America’s world now.

Although France was kind and gentle, spoiling America with all sorts of treasures, games, and clothing, he felt like an empty shell. He woke to flowers every day, and went to sleep in the safety of France’s arms, never once could he summon up the energy to protest. He had any material good he could ever want. Someone to spoil and love him. To care for him like he had always wanted. But it wasn’t England.

For the first while, America was sure England would have heard of France taking him away, and any minute England would appear, ever valiant on a ship to take him away from France. But as weeks turned to months, England was nowhere to be found.

America’s spirit was broken. His heart had shattered that night France had held him. He felt as if he had fallen from a great height, gravity tugging at his body till it smashed to the ground; so broken and scattered that there would never be anyway to be piece it back together.

France hardly ever left his side. Except for personal grooming France was always there with him. An arm wrapped around his waist or shoulder, his delicate fingers laced with his own, France never let them be separated.

France tried his best to pull America out of his depression. He hated to see the young man so sad and empty. So empty of life. France wanted nothing more than to see the feisty boisterous America he knew and loved. His first mark of progress was late at night. He was tucking the silent opinion less America into his bed, ready for a good nights sleep.  
“Je t’aime Alfred.” France whispered those three words quietly to America before settling himself into bed, pulling the American into the safety of his arms.

The next morning America was the same emotionless, lifeless being he had become. However, France used that morning during breakfast to mark the first day of America’s recovery.  
“Francis…” The name came out as a shaky breath, cautious and unsure. Frances head snapped towards the nervous American, putting his fork down and giving America his full attention.  
“What does Je tame mean?” He looked down in an almost shy manor as France reined in his urge to jump for joy. He stood up as slowly as he could, he didn’t want to startle the American back into depression now, and walked to where America was seated, kneeling beside the chair.  
“It means, I love you.” France smiled gently, accentuating his sentence with a chaste kiss on the top of America’s head. He watched the different emotions wash over the younger mans face. Confusion, anger, sadness, though it was mostly confusion.

France chuckled quietly and stood, taking his seat at the other side of the table once again.  
“Would you like to learn more of my native tongue Alfred?” France bit his lip to stop the perverted grin from splitting onto his face. He really didn’t intend to make the sentence so dirty. Yes, he would like to have America learn lots of things with his ‘native tongue’ but that was not the time for such comments to be made. The American nodded, nibbling cutely at a croissant.

From that day forwards, America tried to enjoy his time on Frances ship. He had never been spoiled this way, although England’s empire was larger and more wealthy than France, France gave him new and amazing things England had never allowed. Fine fabrics and new clothes whenever France deemed he needed a new wardrobe. A man came twice a week and put white cream on his face, and used his blade to shave the unwanted stubble from his face. Wonderful food many times a day, with such textures and tastes that America found he could not resist.

France would make sure he attended every meeting pertaining about the countries affairs, sometimes even allowing America to offer a rebuttal or suggestion. England had never let America set so much as a pinky toe into his meeting room.

France often took America into his study and taught him the language of his new country. Teach him of the politics, school him on the issues. It was all so new and exciting, why had England never  treated him this way?

One thing that surprised America was that France had not touched him even once, like he did the first time. Occasionally, when America was sad or upset, France would slowly, so slowly, lean in and plant a feather light chaste kiss on his forehead. It made America happy in a way, but also confused. Why had France held him that first time? Was it just the proper way to claim one country from another Nation, or was it that France could not control himself?

Sometimes America was lonely. Yes, France was always by his side, making sure he was happy at all times of the day, but sometimes America felt like he was alone. He missed England, those strong, often mean, but always encouraging words. His awkward hugs and meaningful lectures.

America was restless one night, tossing and turning, fidgeting constantly, the occasional sigh escaping from between his supple lips.

“Alfred mon cher, what is the matter?” France questioned, rolling over and laying his arm around his beloved colony, pulling him close.

Alfred said nothing, just shrugging his shoulders and shaking his head. He tried to put some distance between the two but France’s hold was strong and unmoving.

“Don’t lie to me like this Alfred. Tell me mon Ange, what lurks in the depths of your mind?” France used his free hand to tilt the shy Nations head towards him.

Alfred was not giving up any of his inner most thoughts. Not even to the man who had given him everything. He pulled his chin from Frances grasp and rolled over, turning his back to the older man.

“Alfred. Alfred mon cher, please. I want nothing more than to make you happy.” France whispered hotly into Alfred’s ear causing a shiver to rack his body. France had to resist the urge to smirk. Yes, he loved that he could evoke such feelings in the stubborn nation, but now was not the time for perversions. America was bothered by something, and that was far more important than love making.

“Alfred, please, tell me what plagues your mind. Speaking your worries often makes them easier to bare.” It made France a little sad America could not yet talk to him. America sighed, turning his head into the pillow and mumbling something quietly.

“What was that?” France asked, using his strength to turn the American back towards him. The words that came out Americas mouth next got France all worked up.  
“I miss England… and I’m confused… and lonely.” The words were mumbled quietly, but France was sure he heard the younger man correctly.

France frowned, pulling the American closer to him for a moment, embracing him lovingly before letting go, allowing America to put some space between them.

“Well… why don’t we try to fix those problems? Tell me Alfred, why you feel these things. I will do my best to help you.” France had never been the best a problem solving. Well, problem solving that didn’t involve fixing the problem with love making.

“Don’t wana” America pouted sullenly.

“Well let’s start with the first one. You miss Arthur. Why do you miss that horrible man?” France had to try his best to keep the anger and hurt out of his voice. He had given America everything he had wanted, love, care, and material possessions, why was it not enough for him?

“I don’t know… I’ve been with him for so long, and now he’s not here…” France frowned but pulled America towards him in a hug.

“It’s not that you are unhappy, you just… miss your old life?” France allowed himself a smile as he nuzzled America slightly.

“I guess…” He was still pouting.

“Mmm, this makes me feel better. Now what about the second one. What confuses you mon ange?”

America turned himself around again, shaking his head.  Just when France thought he was making progress the American just had to be stubborn again.

“Alfred. Tell me what is the matter. I want to help. I don’t want you to feel this way.” France scotched closer to America, his arms sneaking under and over the younger man, encircling him in his arms and pulling him close.

America was still stubborn. Shaking his head and trying to pull away.

“Alfred, please, don’t be like this. You know I only want for you to be happy.” France could not keep himself from kissing the slightly tanned neck in front of him. He loved the way America squirmed in his gasp.

“I don’t understand why England has never done any of the same things you have done for me. I thought England liked me. And I always thought you just wanted me because England had me. And… And I don’t understand anymore. I thought England would have come to save me. But he _hasn’t_. –“ America cut himself off with his own tears. A hand coming up to quickly wipe the escaping tears from his face.

France only had so much control. He loved to fix problems with love making, and when given the opportunity to do so, France couldn’t possibly turn it down.

“Alfred. I have never wanted you for the simple reason that England had you. You cannot remember, but I have wanted you since the first day I laid eyes on you. I saw such beauty and potential. But you wanted Arthur, and so I let you go.” A few chaste kisses to the bare neck before him. “England hasn’t come to save you because… well because he has other things to worry about. Now that you have grown up, Arthur trusts that you can… how do you English pigs say it… ‘hold down the fort’. He feels he does not need to spend so much time with you.” France pulled the American back around, making the younger blond look at him. “England acts this way, and does not treat you the same way as I do because he does not _love_ you like I do.”

France couldn’t help himself, he surged forwards kissing the younger man, taking him by surprise. The American was frozen from shock, and after the initial connection, France pulled back suddenly. But he could not quell the urge building inside of him.  
“I can fix all your problems Alfred, if you’ll let me.” He would try to fix them in the only way France knew how. And America was not so oblivious that he was unaware of what France was proposing.

France had said that he loved him. Something America had not seen coming. France had been holding back before, America could see that now. France was willing to provide what he had been yearning for, for what must have been years now.

“Alfred mon cher. I’ve been waiting for you to accept me. Waiting for you to bring yourself to me. I don’t want it to be like last time.” France spoke the words between feather light kisses over his face. Those smooth lips moving over Americas forehead, his cheeks, nose, and eyes. France loved him, England didn’t. Maybe it was time for America to accept that.

“Francis-“ America took a breath. Trying to calm himself, buy himself a little more time before he spoke words he would never be able to take back. “Make me forget Arthur.” He spoke softly before hiding his face in Frances fragrant neck.

France was all to happy to oblige. He rolled America under him quickly, lest the stubborn nation change his mind. He looked into that beautiful, confused and scared face beneath him. Last time, France had lost control, his anger at England and his lust for the beautiful brash Nation had got the better of him. America had been almost lifeless. His entire being had been destroyed and beaten. This was going to be different.

France leaned down slowly, chastely placing his lips over America’s. He waited patiently for America to respond, smiling to himself when he felt the younger man push back against him. It was like a cup of happiness to the Frenchman.

He lifted his hand from the bed softly grabbing America’s chin and pulling gently, trying to get America to open up for him. Taking the cue from France, America slowly parted his lips, letting France’s tongue invade the warm cavern. He kind of enjoyed it.

It wasn’t long before France had his tongue playing just as passionately. It made France hopeful as his hands went to work, unbuttoning the light night shirt that adorned the blushing Nation beneath him.  America shivered as the cool air hit his now unclothed body. His hands buried themselves in the long locks of hair as France’s hand found a nipple. Those long slender fingers gently pinched and flicked the nubs making America moan quietly into France’s mouth.

America froze. Did he really make that noise? His thoughts were confirmed as France’s lips pulled away, but his hands repeated the action, those talented fingers pulling another quiet whimper from the American. It only made France smile, his mouth descending on the American once more, but this time to his neck, kissing sweetly down the long column, tasting the American as his hand moved, making sure to flick and twist his other nipple to pebble hardness.

The soft gasps and pants coming from America was wonderful, Frances tongue coming out and lapping the skin he found there, reveling in the little noises it produced. His hands could not stay idle for long, tracing patterns across the tan skin as his mouth closed over one of those sensitive buds.

A powerful shiver racked America’s body as France’s tongue laved over the hardened nipple, a mewl of approval escaping the younger mans mouth without his permission. France could feel the nervous hands tighten their grip in his long silky hair as he continued his ministrations on the younger mans nipples, hoping it would be enough to distract him long enough to get rid of the nuisance that were his night pants.

A gasp burst from America’s mouth that was clearly one of surprise, and not on pleasure. France looked up momentarily to see the frightened face of America. It was Frances turn to be paralyzed in shock. He had seen an angry America before. He had seen the excited, the sad, the depressed, the crying, the happy, the confused; never had he seen the young brash nation frightened. 

France slowly moved his hand from below the waistline of the American’s pants, gently caressing the skin as his hand moved up the gorgeous body beneath him. He wanted America. He wanted to possess and love and hold America more than anything. But he wanted the American to feel the same.

France smiled and kissed America’s cheek softly. “Alfred, please do not show me such face.” He watched as America slowly relaxed, his hands coming to rest limply around his shoulders. “Tonight mon cher. Do not worry. Tonight is about you, and only you.” He let his hands slowly wander back down America’s torso, index fingers hooking inside the hem of his pants. “I’m taking these off now.”

America could not find words, nor any reason to refuse France, and so he nodded shakily his hands feeling lost as he watched France pull away the last barrier.  To say France was surprised at the sight he received, would have been a serious understatement. A huge grin split onto Frances face as he moved up and placed kisses all over his feisty American’s lips.

“Alfred, I had no idea you were so naughty.” He kissed a trail down the American’s neck as he threw the pants to the floor. “No undergarments. I can’t say I disapprove.” A quick nibble at America’s collar bone had France looking up to see the young blond scowling at him. Obviously he did not like being teased.

France smirked and placed an apologetic kiss on America’s forehead as his hands wandered lower. His mouth claimed the American’s passionately as his hand finally grasped the weeping erection that had been begging for attention.

France swallowed the pleasured gasp from America as his hand firmly grasped the younger mans length. Another moan from America broke the kiss, his hand raising to his face, biting his finger to keep the noises in. France was having none of it, his free hand pulling America’s finger form his mouth.

“Alfred mon cher. Let me hear your voice.” France spoke the words hotly into America’s ear, loving the shiver he felt from the younger man. France was pleased when the hand came out of his mouth, and wrapped itself around Frances neck, a cascade of gasps, mewls, and whimpers falling from America’s mouth.

France smirked again as he kissed his way down America’s body. Stopping to flick his tongue over a hardened nub, his tongue occasionally slipping out to taste the wonders of America’s skin, dipping into his navel causing a jerk and a gasp. France listened as America’s breath became more and more shallow the closer his lips came to their goal.

The sound that burst from America’s mouth as France quickly engulfed his hardened length, could only be described as a cry of pleasure. One that France was sure most of the crew near by could hear. It only pleased him more, spurred him to continue his work. Sucking in his cheeks and putting his tongue to good work, France made sure to hold down the hips of the moaning American. He increased his speed, tongue laving over every pressure point, dipping into the sensitive slit, circling over the head before taking the entire length back into his mouth.

America’s one hand fisted the fine linen, the other tightly grasping the fabric of Frances night shirt. France hummed in approval, the vibrations moving threw America causing that dangerous tingling to build up inside him.

“Francis- ahh!” America gasped again his body pushing up against France as the pressure inside him increased. France hummed once more as he took as much of the beautiful American into his mouth as possible, sucking and using his tongue to the best of his ability. Frances eyes looked up to just in time to see the ecstasy on America’s face as the younger man tried to form words, the pleasure from France to much as he fell over the edge, crying out Frances name in the process.

France milked America for all he was worth, sucking gently as he released America’s wilting erection from his mouth. He licked away a drop of cum from his mouth before licking his hand clean.

America was a sight to behold, sweat glistened chest heaving with every breath, eyes half lidded from the post-orgasmic pleasure, limbs strewn about the bed without care.

France was breathless.

He sighed, content as he pulled America’s limbs into a more comfortable position before pulling the sheets over his exhausted body. He was about to move away when a gentle hand was placed on his wrist.

“Where are you going?” The American asked quietly, almost pleading for him not to go.

“Just to the washroom mon cher. Sleep well.” France smiled sweetly, kissing America on the head before replacing the limp arm and moving to the washroom. France was a pervert. There was no denying this fact. But the brash American really did hold a special place in Frances heart, and the last thing he wanted was to send the young man running back to England.

\------------------------------- -----------------------------------------------------------------------

When America woke in the morning, he was once again in the safety of France’s arms. The man was right, for that short time, France was the only one who occupied his mind. France was… well… very talented in bed. Of course he would be, the Nation of romance was bound to be a fantastic lover. But England was the one America loved. Was he not?

America looked over to his new protector, eyes examining the sleeping face. He looked almost… beautiful when he slept. His usual perverted grin and sneaky personality were gone, replaced with a natural happiness that America found strangely attractive.

He looked to himself, taking a moment to register that, yes, he was naked. He looked around the room, finding his shirt under the bed, and his pants on the floor in the middle of the room. After re-dressing himself America stood in the middle of the room, full of energy and unsure of what to do. Usually France was an early riser, waking up far before America, and always having a delicious meal waiting for him.

That’s what he would do. Surprise France with a meal for _him_! He quickly and quietly changed into some of the fine clothes France had given to him. Some of the outfits he had been given looked silly, with frills and lace and other awkward fashions, but this outfit was one of his favorites, just a nice pair of pants and a loose fitting, but very flattering dress shirt.

America made his way to the eating quarters and asked the chef to make a nice breakfast for France and himself, to which the chef politely nodded and had the food ready in a matter of minutes. One of the kitchen crew insisted that they bring it to the room, but America was much more stubborn, and after a short argument, America happily brought the large tray back to the room he shared with France.

When he arrived, France was groggily sitting on the edge of the bed, head in his hands looking very unhappy.

“Good morning Francis.” America spoke loudly as he entered the room. A grunt was his only response. Obviously there was a reason America had never seen France in the morning. He was not actually an early riser. He just didn’t want America to see him like this.

  

  1. “I brought us breakfast. Hopefully food will make you less grumpy.”   Another grunt, but this time a hand left his head only to wave America closer. The young blond smiled as he pulled the table closer to the bed and took a seat beside France.
  



America buttered his croissant and set to nibbling it slowly as France looked at the food uncomfortably. France grumbled and stood, looking back at America and frowning.

“Excusez-moi. Bathe.” More grumbling from the Frenchman before he stumbled off to the private bath.  Definitely not a morning person.

America waited patiently as France took care of his morning tasks, nibbling slowly on his buttered croissant.

“Good morning Alfred!” Came the exuberant voice as France emerged from the bathroom. He strode from the door and took a seat beside America taking a pastry and biting into it gracefully.  
“I am so sorry about having you see me… like that in the morning.” He finished the rest of his pastry before leaning over and kissing America’s cheek.  
“It’s ok. It was kind of funny.” America smiled not pulling away from the chaste kiss as he continued to eat the breakfast.

“Today I am continuing your French education. It’s still just as deplorable as the first day you arrived.” America scowled but nodded, the two men accepting a comfortable silence as breakfast was eaten.

\------------------------------- ---------------------------------------------

French lessons were just as frustrating and boring as usual, that was, until the lesson was interrupted, one of the more senior crew members burst into the room, yelling that British ships were on the horizon.

America’s face lit up in excitement. England was coming for him! He jumped out of his seat and bolted from the room before France had time to react, running to the bow of the ship and looking out into the sea. It was a small speck, but definitely a ship, and if the crew said it was the British, America had no doubts that it really was. England still wanted him!

America yelped loudly as arms wrapped around him picking him up bridal style and carrying him away from his salvation. It was France of course, holding him tightly to his lithe form as he walked into the cabin.

“France! Stop it! Put me down!” America screamed loudly his arms pounding whatever part of France he could reach.  
“ _Non_ ” was his only reply as the older Nation quickly walked into the room he had been staying in. America watched as France stopped hard on a loose floor board. The board came up and revealed a loose rope, which France pulled up, pulling a good chunk on the floor with it revealing a small hide-e-hole.

France put America’s feet back on the floor, taking care to hold him tight so he wouldn’t escape.

“Alfred.” He began but couldn’t finish. “Alfred. I love you. I can’t bare to have you go back to England now.” He kissed America’s forehead quickly before lifting him up and placing him in the hole in the floor, quickly closing the door and latching it to prevent escape.

America was furious. How dare France lock him away! Just when England was coming to save him! All that bullshit about loving him. What a lie. America frowned as he pulled his legs up against his chest and waited for England to save him.

Night had fallen and America had tried to dose off in his confined box when he heard the latch being unhinged. His head snapped up ready to pounce and beat France for all he was worth. However, when the door finally opened, he was met with a black cloth covered face, the persons hand over their mouth gesturing him to stay silent.

America nodded and took the strangers hand when it was offered. He let himself be pulled from the hole, looking around to see France’s body laying awkwardly on the floor. He was horrified for a moment, thinking the Frenchman was dead, but the stranger took his hand and held it on his stomach, and America felt himself sigh in relief when he felt the mans chest rise with breath. He followed the stranger out of the cabin, ducking and sneaking around the ship before sliding down a rope and landing in the get away dingy.

His savior rowed the two of them away from Frances ship. It wasn’t long before America passed out, waking up only when he felt himself being lifted from the dingy. He cried out happily as he looked to his savior. England.

America wrapped his arms around England’s neck tightly, wanting to kiss the man he was so happy! But he had to refrain. England didn’t want that.

“I knew you would come for me Arthur.”  America shouted excitedly, hugging England tighter.  
“I’m sorry it took me so long Alfred. I never meant for you to be abducted by that pervert.”  England smiled before embracing America back just as tightly.

\------------------------- -----------------------------------------------------------------------------

It had only been a few weeks since England had saved America from the French. He had settled back into his normal life of morning tea and paper, the occasional discussion of world issues with England, studying up on his literature as England told him to.

As much as America was thankful to be home, back safe in England’s protection, he still missed the Frenchman. Missed his perverted grin, his insatiable taste for only the finest wine, food and clothing. He missed the encouraging smile when he spoke something correctly, the proud smile when he made a contribution to the Nation meeting. He missed that slimy pervert and he couldn’t understand why.

He had England back. England was even spending time with him, how could he possibly miss that horrible Frenchman. But he did.

America sighed as he treaded carefully over the creaky floorboards of England’s house. He opened the door quietly and tip-toed to the side of England’s bed, a nervous hand reaching out and shaking the older man gently.  

England opened his eyes groggily and looked up at America.  
“Alfred. What’s the matter? Is something wrong?” He sat up slowly looking concerned.  
“I umm… had a night terror… could I… maybe stay with you the rest of the night?” America put on his best cute face. Lying was only wrong when you were doing something immoral… right?  
“Of course. Come here Alfred.” England spoke the words in his sleep roughened voice as he patted the space beside him.

America climbed into bed with the man who had controlled most of his wet dreams, and some of the day dreams too, snuggling close as England wrapped his protective arms around his body. Just like he had imagined.

“Did France sleep with you like this?” The words took on a different tone as America looked away.  “Of course he did. That pervert.” Why did England sound… angry?

America watched with confusion as England pulled him closer one hand moving to the back of his neck and pulling him forwards into a chaste kiss. England was _kissing_ him. _England_ was kissing _him._ America was to shocked to move, he could only close his eyes as England’s tongue made it’s marry way into his mouth. “I’ve held back for so long Alfred. To keep you pure and innocent. But now that Francis has tainted you… I can’t allow it.” And England was kissing him again. His tongue exploring all his mouth, tasting him thoroughly.

It was perfect. This was what America had been dreaming about for years. England wanted him.

Why was he not happy? America tried to ignore the feeling, returning the kiss and leaning into England more.

England knew to take this cue, rolling on top of America kissing him roughly, keeping him preoccupied, as he maneuvered him into a better position.

But the hand was to rough as it pulled his shirt from his shoulders.

He saw only green not the blue he had come to love as his eyes shot open in confusion.

His nails scraping down the others back, leaving the skin angry and red.

Fingers that were short and strong as they moved over his bare torso.

Grabbing onto short and scruffy hair he wished was long and silky.

The voice was wrong, soothing and rough, not smooth and dirty.

If he tried hard enough, maybe he could pretend.

Why was he pretending. England was what he wanted. Right?

America pushed England off himself abruptly, panting harshly but not from pleasure. It was so wrong. Being with England was supposed to be different. But right now, all he wanted was to see France. America shot out of the bed, tripping over the sheets and falling to the ground.

He wasn’t down long. Removing the blankets from his ankles, America jumped up and looked back to the confused and hurt England.  
“I’m sorry Arthur… I think… I’ve changed my mind.” He spoke the words excitedly, bolting from the room and running back to his own.

America gathered what few possessions he needed before running from the house. It was only a matter of hours before he had arranged a ship and crew to sail him to France. America only hoped France would still accept him.


	2. Fix This, Little Savage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa been a while huh?  
> So, for a long time I didn't think I was going to finish this. Recently a friend (who didn't know I was 'fred-the-moose') read this fic and was telling me about it. Without knowing it was my story she was so excited and happy and loved the story so much it really gave me a kick in the but to get it finished.
> 
> It's not actually finished yet. It's still got some more to it, but I feel like this is enough for now.   
> I do intend to finish it.
> 
> So here it is!

America paced the perimeter of the ship. It had been 3 weeks already, and this ship was a far cry from the luxurious vessel France had originally taken him on. The sailors were unclean and crude and the ship had really seen better days. But it wouldn't be long now. Three maybe four days, then the ship would hit France, and America would be able to be with France again. Of course, only if France still wanted him.

America had run away from France. Abandoning him for England just as France had started to hope for something more. He would probably feel betrayed. Maybe he wouldn't even like America anymore. He could only hope for the best as his ship sailed onwards.

When the ship finally made port in France it took America almost the entire day to find France's house. England had only taken him to France's house once when he was very little, and recalling the exact location was quite hard. After many wrong turns and streets leading in opposite directions, America found himself staring blankly at the door of Fances' house.

What now? Should he knock? What if France answered the door? What was he going to say? Maybe America was a little hasty. He didn't even know if France would want to see him anymore. What if France hated him? Then where would he go?

The door swung open suddenly and America looked up to see a tall snotty looking man.  
"Are you going to come in and fix this horrid mess or stand there like a babbling idiot? I hear it's quite normal in your country."

America stumbled over his words for a few moments, unsure of what to say, what to do, and how this man knew all that he did.

"You better fix this. Don't fuck it up again you American swine." The man grabbed America by the collar and dragged him into the house. He didn't let go as he pushed America's meager possessions to the floor and pulling America through the long corridors like a dirty tissue.

He stopped at a large door, pulling America to his feet and re-arranging his collar and clothes.  
"Do what you need to do boy."  
And with that, he was pushed through the door.

America tried to stifle his gasp as he was pushed into the room. He had to try even harder to stop the next gasp as he took his first glance at France.

The man was a mess. His hair messy and unwashed. His face covered in a full unkempt beard. His clothes dirty and wrinkled, as if he had been sleeping in them day and night. America had never seen the man in such a state. It hit America like a ton of bricks that  _he_  was the one to cause France to become this way. It was all his fault, and he needed to make everything right again.

America cleared his throat quietly to get France's attention but the Frenchman did nothing more than flinch.  
"Francis…" America tried to keep his voice strong, but it wobbled like a toddler taking its first steps.

France's head snapped up, his eyes locking on America's.  
"Alfred? Is that you?" France sat up a bit straighter, his entire body screaming his timid-ness.  
America just nodded, not knowing what to say. France scoffed, turning sideways in his chair and looking up to the ceiling.  
"Just another hallucination no doubt" The older man spoke as his hands grasped blindly for the mostly emptied bottle of wine by the foot of the chair.

America watched as France took a long swig of wine.  
"You know, drinking won't make me go away Francis." Gaining confidence in himself America started walking towards France. A walk that seemed much longer than it actually was. He didn't let himself stop till he was inches away from the distraught man.  
"Francis. I'm right here." He couldn't think of anything else to say.

France looked towards him, his eyes a little glazed over, a drunken haze fogging his vision as he looked over America. The younger took hold of the bottle of wine setting it on the floor and taking the now empty hand in his.

"Francis. I'm really here." He let himself down on the ground. Half kneeling half sitting on the floor beside France's chair, holding France's hand in his, pressing it to his face like a raft keeping him from the icy waters.  
"I'm really here. With you, not with Arthur. I never would have guessed that when the man I had been in love with for more than half my life finally accepted me, that it would feel so wrong. I thought Arthur was everything I wanted Francis… But he's not. You changed that. You changed me. All I can think about is you. All I want to do is to be with you. I don't know how you did it Francis but you changed me. And there is no going back. There is only one place I want to be now, and that's with you."

France turned his head towards America, his brain hardly believing the words coming from that arrogant American's mouth. Those words France had been wishing for, for longer than he cared to admit. He watched as America turned his eyes away from France's own deep blue, hiding in embarrassment as he continued.

"I know you have every right to hate me Francis. All you ever did was love me and spoil me and shower me with all your affections. Taking care of me and just… fuck Francis you were so good to me. And I just turned my back on you, and walked away like it was nothing. I'm sorry Francis, and… and you know how hard it is for me to say something like that. I'm sorry. I want to stay with you Francis. I uhh…"

America froze, the words halting on his tongue, as if saying them would break him into a million pieces.  
"Francis I just… I think I umm… I think, I might possibly… well… I might possibly really like you… a lot."

France was frozen in shock just as America was frozen with fear. Shock of America, the unruly stubborn nation of independence, confessing his like (and like was not a far cry from love, France knew this). America, in fear that after all he had done to France, their chance had been ruined by his blindness.

France moved so quickly America didn't register the movement till he was trapped by the older nation, flat on his back as he looked into the shining face of the nation of love.  
"Alfred. Si tu plait. Tell me this is not a hallucination. Si tu plait. I dream of this all the time. Si tu plait. Tell me."

America chuckled as he embraced France tighter. "It's real Francis. I am really here." It took all of America's courage to lean up and place a small chaste kiss on France's bearded chin, and that was all it took to convince the Frenchman that America was really there.

The kiss was more mind blowing than America thought was possible. France's tongue quickly plundering America's mouth, wiping away his every worry with ease. It felt like the kiss lasted for hours, neither getting bored of the wonderful sensations.

When they did finally break apart, gasping for breath, France pulled America onto his lap as he took a seat back in his chair.  
"Alfred, please, I know my appearance is not pleasing at all right now, but please, just let me sit for a while. Let me hold you."

And who was America to deny France this? So they sat like that for a while. France, holding America tightly. America, with his arms wrapped equally as tight around France, his head resting comfortably on France's shoulder, just listening to the others breaths as they enjoyed being together.

The silence was broken as the snobbish man pushed open the doors, taking only a few steps in before speaking curtly.  
"Sir, I've prepared a bath and the shaving kit." And with that he left the room.

America lifted his head from France's shoulder, looking up into the older mans face, searching for a reaction. France opened his eyes a hand lifting to pet America's head, his fingers playing lightly with the short hairs near the back of his head as he contemplated weather sitting with America, or a nice hot bath and a clean face was better.

After deciding he would wash and  _then_  sit with America, France lifted the smaller nation off of him and stood up stretching his lithe body out.  
"You will wait for me while I fix myself up properly?" He asked the question as if he expected America to answer with 'no'.

Of course, America nodded, and France took his hand and pulled him out of the room, and towards what America assumed was his private rooms. France's bedroom was well decorated and lavish, just as America had expected it to be. The bed was so large, America was sure four men could have comfortably slept together on it. A rich and soft looking fabric, almost see-through, draped over tall banisters over the bed, the sheets looking warm and comforting.

"Wait for me here mon ange. I will be quick." France placed a soft kiss on top of America's head before walking towards large snow white double door leading to France's private bathes. America decided that France wouldn't mind if he tried out his soft comfy looking bed.

It was everything America thought it would be, and more. He burrowed further into the covers as he waited for France, trying not to think about what would happen next. He had just left England behind. In the middle of England's attempt at wooing, and loving him America had bolted, and left him for France.

It seemed no matter what America did, he was hurting someone. He only hoped England would not hate him for this. But he wouldn't be surprised. America knew you hardly ever got to have your cake and eat it too.

When France came out of the bathroom, he was his normal, exuberant, clean shaven, smiling, loud, French self. And America was glad for it. He sat up and smiled from the bed, France moving so gracefully to the bed, America could have sworn he floated. He landed on the bed with a grunt as he rolled over beside America, smiling gracefully.

"You do not understand how happy I am that you are here Alfred." He leaned forwards, slowly, still afraid he would upset the smaller nation, and pecked him on the lips before shifting closer and pulling the American into his arms.

America flinched as someone cleared their throat loudly, followed by a knocking at the already open door.  
"Sir, it is understandable you want to lay with this savage for the day… However your excursion to Britain and then your tryst with depression has put you dreadfully behind in paperwork and general duties of your country. The savage will remain here, I will make sure of it. Please, I've arranged your office for all the necessary work to be completed. Your country is your first priority."

France sighed dramatically rolling onto his back and looking towards the ceiling. Was he… pouting? A clear "Humph" was heard from the Frenchman before he rolled back onto his side, looking towards the American.

"Sadly mon chere, he is correct, I have long neglected my duties. France kissed America on the forehead softly before rolling the opposite way out of the bed, straightening his clothing as he walked around the bed to America's side. "Marin here will set you up with paper and ink. You should… You should write to Arthur. Let him know you arrived, and you are safe… and whatever else you need to get off your chest." France looked around awkwardly as he spoke. America nodded slowly, knowing it had to be done.

"I will return soon, I'll have Marin return in an hour or so to guide you around the property." France ran his hand down the length of America's arm, his touch lingering, taking just a moment longer to be with his beloved. He turned, walking briskly to the door. "We too have much to discuss Alfred. We will talk later." And with that he left the room, striding down the long corridor.

Marin on the other hand walked into the room with a scowl, making his way towards the regal desk in the back of the room he uncovered an ink well and pen, then pulled a small stack of paper from a drawer. He turned around to look at the American, now standing stiffly in the middle of the room.

"Do what you need to do boy." The words were spoken with such venom America felt the need to step back, feeling the hostile nature of the man as he walked out of the room. The door closed quietly, the soft  _click_  of the lock being turned. And then America was alone.

He walked slowly to the desk, as if the paper and ink was something to be feared; like a large spider or something that went bang in the darkness. He sat gingerly in the chair, letting his hand caress the fine craftsmanship of the chair, the beautiful carvings enhanced with fine painting. Nothing short of the best for France.

He sighed, staring blankly at the paper for what seemed like hours. What was he supposed to say? America had done a terrible thing to Arthur. And if what Arthur said that night so long ago now was true, he was about to break the Nations heart.

When Marin entered the room later that evening he found a pile of crumpled paper crowding the desk, America's head rising, then dropping to the table top with a thud. He repeated the action; rising, dropping,  _thunk_ , over and over again as Marin walked into the room, carrying a tray of food for the new guest. He set the tray down on a side table, sighing as he walked over to the desk.

America's head was in mid air as Marin caught it, a gentle hand cradling his forehead. "Savage. I am under the impression that you do not possess enough brain cells to be putting those you have in such danger." America sat up, his head hung low like a scalded child. Marin gathered up the scrap papers and dumped them in the trashcan nearby.

"Savage, what is frustrating you so? You have made your bed, now you need to lay in it."  
America shook his head, not wanting to disclose such things to a man who felt the need to call him 'savage'.  
"That's quite enough of this sulking young man." Marin spoke sternly, pulling the corner of the chair and turning it so he could face the American. He bent he knees, getting down to the level of America.  
"What is the problem little savage?" America was about to protest again, pull away and tell the horrible man to go away, but when he looked up, he didn't see the hostility, or the anger he saw earlier.

"I don't know what to say. I don't even know where to begin. For god's sake I don't even know what's going on… how am I supposed to tell the man that gave me everything, that used to be my everything, that I want to be with the person he raised me to hate?" America looked away, his shoulders slouching further down in despair. Marin pursed his lips grabbing the pen from the table and placing it in his open palm, wrapping America's fingers around it.

"Well little savage, you tell him what happened. You try to explain to him what changed. You tell him how you feel." Marin turned the chair back to the desk, and moved the young nations arm to dip the pen gently in the well. "You tell him how you feel, and you hope he understands. That is all you can do." He patted America on the shoulders gently before walking to the door. "Francis has sent you up some food, feel free to nibble."

America nodded turning his head slightly towards the door. "Merci Marin." He spoke quietly before the door shut. America took a deep breath, ignoring the rumbling in his stomach at the thought of food. Marin had given him some valuable advice, and America had a nagging feeling he didn't want to feel the wrath if he didn't put that advice to good use.

_Dear Arthur,_

_I keep hearing your lecturing voice in the back of my head, I know what you would say, if this situation included someone else. My actions on that night, so many nights ago now, was inexcusable. I was rude, and my decision was so rash._

_I can't imagine the amount of pain you must have felt that night. I finally laid with the man I loved all my life, who had loved me his whole life, who had held back and restrained his own feelings to keep me safe and innocent. You chose to finally reveal your feelings for me, and I turned away from you so easily, for a man you hate. I know I can never ask your forgiveness Arthur, for I have caused too much pain._

_I myself don't even know how this happened Arthur. When Francis came for me, and took me away from you, I was sure you would soon be on the horizon, looking for me, but you weren't. And as the days went by, I learned so much about Francis I never could have experienced. I saw his perversions, yes. His love of social status, spending money foolishly, and general lack of any direction. He is so opposite of you Arthur, I understand now why you hate him so. But Francis has shown me so much more of himself. His generosity, his love of friends, to laugh and make laugh, his dedication to social and political issues, his willingness to share. Though I showed him nothing of myself, Francis let me in, he taught me of his country, his customs. Let me attend important meetings, let me participate._

_He treated me as an equal Arthur. I can never be your equal._

_I feel as if you are a star so high in the sky I could never possibly reach that height, and that you will always look down to me, a little star to be manhandled and treated like a disposable pawn. I think eventually that's what drew me to Francis, he treated me like the most precious gem, his most prized possession. However he also treated me as his equal, heard me as a valuable person, and looked at me like a lover._

_I cannot change what has happened Arthur. Know that I do love you, but Francis now holds a special place in my heart that was previously untouched. I wish to be with Francis forever._

_I am sorry for all the pain I have caused you Arthur, I hope we can speak again some day, as equals._

_-Alfred._

America breathed in deeply as he signed his name, his eyes moist, threatening at any moment to spill tears. He slowly folded the letter, his bottom lip quivering with emotion, remembering how England had taught him to fold the paper in 3 sections to fit the envelope perfectly. He slid the letter into the envelope slowly his breath ragged, his emotions raging within his body. He placed the envelope down on the table top delicately, then made a dash for the bed. Burying his face into one of the soft pillows, he willed himself not to cry. The damage had already been done, his relationship with England would never be the same, and yet he still felt so strongly for the older man.

America took a deep breath, steeling himself against the tears. He inhaled again, France's scent filling his lungs, soothing his mind and calming his body. He sat up slowly, looking towards the tray of food, but he no longer felt hungry. He settled down into the bed, burying his head in France's pillow, breathing his scent in over and over to keep his thoughts at bay.

It felt like hours before Marin unlocked the door and entered the room. America didn't bother looking up knowing it wasn't France. "The letter is on the table. I can't look at it."

Marin nodded his head even if the brash nation couldn't see. Walking to the desk and slipping it into his jacket pocket. "I shall have it sent as soon as possible. Come now I will show you around so you will not be too lost on your own."

Slowly, America pulled himself from the plush bed and followed Marin out the door.

Marin slowed his walk to match the American's stride, gesturing to certain rooms, pointing around corners, explaining what the eyes could not see. They passed the library, though most of the literature was in French, so it would be some time before America could read anything there. They passed the kitchen, Marin introduced him to the head chef, America waving nervously at the large man. They passed the many guest rooms, the offices, the storage, the fitness room, the dining room, the waiting room, the living room, which washroom was closest to which room. They passed France's study, the door was closed and America was now allowed to enter. France had important things to do, that America's presence would almost certainly disturb.

Marin took America to the outside, the swimming pool, the tennis court, fencing range, the stables, and the garden. America was amazed by it all. England's house was large, he had many of the same rooms inside his house, but France's felt bigger, grander, or maybe it was just the lavish décor? The outside was much different. France's yard was larger than the one he was used to in England. England's house was mostly garden, the man loved to tend to his gardens in his spare time. Of course, at America's request as a child, a pool had been installed. A place had been cleared in the corner of the yard for playing football, England often scolding young America for kicking the ball into his gardens.

With his thoughts leading back to England America could feel his awe at France's home fading. He felt himself instinctively looking around, his hand grasping for France's, who had been there for so long whenever America felt lonely.

Marin must have sensed this and began the long walk back to France's rooms.

"I will send Francis back here as soon as he has properly finished. You should have some of the food I brought up while you wait, maybe bathe. Your things have been placed just in the closet over there." America nodded, turning to walk over to the bed when he felt Marin take hold of his wrist. He turned America towards him, looking him straight in the eye as he began to speak.

"I have lived in this house my entire life, My father served Francis' father, as I serve Francis. I have been with Francis his entire life, through the good and the bad. I love him as if he were my own flesh and blood. You hurt him, little savage. You will never know the state he was in when he arrived here, on his own door step. I cannot promise I will not cause you harm if you do such a thing again. Tell me, little savage. Do you love him?" His eyes were deadly serious, looking into America's soul, searching for an answer.

America pulled at his captured wrist but Marin did not relent. He stuttered, suddenly he felt very fearful, not being able to look away from Marin's steely gaze. "I-I… I th-" America stumbled over his words, he couldn't even admit it to himself, how could he admit it to this man under so much stress. "I-I think s-s-so." Looking into Marin's eyes he knew that answer was not good enough. "I think so. I just… I just know I never want to be away from him again." America pulled his wrist from Marin's grasp. He couldn't do better than that. He was still confused about his feelings, he couldn't even begin to explain them to a near stranger.

Marin sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I hope you figure it out soon." He straightened up and turned quickly, closing the door behind him, leaving him alone.

America decided first thing in order was to eat. It had been so long, and though he was hungry earlier his foul thoughts had ruined his appetite. He nibbled on what food was there, finding certain spreads and crackers he knew he liked, some fruits and a small glass of wine. When he felt his stomach was satisfied, he turned to look at the room, what now?

America decided to explore the large room. There were 3 doors he had not seen into, he figured one exit was the balcony. He tried there first, the double door opening easily as he stepped out onto the balcony. America took a few deep breaths, looking out over the landscape presented to him. It was almost completely dark, the sun gone from sight, only a few rays still casting light upon the land. America looked about while he still could, seeing the vineyard below stretching out far into the hills. A gust of late summer wind blew across America, tangling his hair and blowing it across his face. America scoffed, turning around and walking back into the room to fix his hair.

The second door was to the closet, his meager possessions had been folded and hung in a small corner of the closet, but America felt that this would soon change, as France would not allow him to have such a small wardrobe.

The third door was to the bathroom. It was big, so much larger than the small cold thing England had. The entire room was marble, a large chandelier hung from the ceiling glittering light into the room. The bath was large and upon further inspection America learned that there was a small coal bed beneath the bath to keep it warm for longer. Dipping his finger into the water he found it was still warm. America decided there was no better time to bathe than this. France would probably not be back for hours, so America would have plenty of time to relax and wash.

He stripped his clothes, embarrassingly dirty from his travels, and laid them down beside the bath. The warm bath was like something from heaven, having only used cold dirty water to wash on the ship. America felt his eyes close in comfort as he wiggled into the warm water. He laid his head back against the edge of the tub his body relaxing, the water lapping at his chest, trying to sooth his troubles.

It felt like hours, but what in reality was only minutes, when America flinched hearing a knock on the door. "Alfred? Alfred mon ange, may I come in?" France spoke softly from the other side of the door.

He was asking, it was clearly a question. America was sure that if he said no, no matter how bad the French nation pouted, he would respect his answer and not enter.

America froze in shock, it was too quick, and he needed more time. "Uhh… Um… just a- hold on. Umm…" America sat up, thinking quickly. Did he want France in there with him? In the bath?

"Alfred?" Came the soft voice again.

America sighed "Umm… ok…" he spoke the last part quietly, hoping France wouldn't hear it, biting his lip in nervousness.

France of course heard him but he entered slowly, looking around the room till he spotted the smaller man in the bath. France couldn't help the perverted grin that split onto his face.

"I see you are waiting for me mon ange." He smiled slowly moving towards the bath.

France watched as America moved to cover himself. France chuckled bending slightly to be on the same level as America, his hand gently caressing the brash nation's cheek. "Surely you cannot be embarrassed Alfred. It is nothing I have not seen before." America blushed and turned away. "May I join you?"

America shivered, France's voice had dropped to a sultry level, and America found he could not deny the man. He nodded slowly, hands still covering himself, eyes turned away from the now undressing France. America could feel himself blush as he heard the tell tale sounds of another body entering the bath.

"Come here Alfred, please… Do not feel scared." France moved towards America gently placing his hands on the blushing, hiding mans shoulders from behind. "Si'll tu plait Alfred, let me hold you."

He was practically begging, and although America was nervous, he relented, taking a step backwards into France's warm arms. America's breath caught in his throat as his body was pressed up against France. He could hear France let out a soft sigh, long arms wrapping around him, gently caressing his shoulders, arms, and then torso. America sucked in a breath as France's hands wandered his torso, long fingers brushing his skin making him shiver.

"Francis…" America tried to say something, but stopped, he wasn't sure what he wanted to say.

France chuckled, the rumble moving through his body and into the American's. He let go enough to turn the younger man towards him. "Hmm, this is much better. To be able to look at your beautiful face." France smiled, suddenly surging forwards and crushing his lips to America's. Shocked at first, America's hands came up in defense, gipping France's shoulder's tightly, their mission of guarding his manhood all but forgotten. When the shock had warn off, France was pleased to feel the American relax, those soft pliable lips opening of their own accord, the tense hands gripping his shoulder softened and wrapped around his neck.

France wiped the nervousness from America's head, his tongue working magic, playing against the American's in a slow dance. He could feel the American melt against him and the Frenchman could not have been happier. France pulled away momentarily, kissing America's forehead, his cheeks, neck, nose, jaw anything his lips could reach, all in between soft words of praise. "I am so happy you are here Alfred." More kisses, feathering over his entire head.

Alfred gasped, his eyes shooting open in surprise as he felt France's hardening length brush against his own. "Francis I-" America tried to speak, only to be cut off with a kiss from the nation of love.

"Alfred." More kisses feathering over his face. "Alfred, don't be afraid of the pleasure. I want you to feel nothing but pleasure always. Let me share this pleasure with you Alfred." France moved his mouth to America's neck, kissing, licking and nipping gently at the skin there.

America didn't say anything, so France took his silence as permission to continue, listening intently to his lover as he shifted his hips forward, grinding his own member against the American's. France smirked into America's neck, relishing in the gasp that flew from the young blond's mouth. He did it again, thrusting against America, loving the noises he was creating.

"Let me show you real pleasure Alfred. Let me show you passion." France whispered into America's ear, hot breath ghosting against his skin as France's hand reached down, grasping both their members so suddenly.

"Francis!" America cried out for France, his loud voice echoing in the large room. The sudden new pleasure, and the realization of rubbing against France was almost too much.

"Let yourself feel the pleasure Alfred." France spoke, his hand beginning to stroke both their hardening lengths. America's breaths began to come in short pants, his eyes now sliding closed as France continued to kiss and nip America's neck. "Let it envelop you Alfred." France began to move his own hips, a low drawn out groan from America spurred the Frenchman further. "Let yourself drown in the passion Alfred. Drink in the pleasure." America tried to turn his head away from the sinful voice.

"Don't- mmm, say such things Francis." Those dirty words would be the American's undoing.

Francis chuckled again, increasing the speed of his strokes, biting in a spot he knew was particularly sensitive. "Alfred." He whispered again his hand leaving America's back in favour of a pert nipple. America moaned loudly as those long fingers went to work. "Alfred let show you what real pleasure is. Let it move through your body. Let it light a fire inside you. Let it  _consume_ you." America moaned again, the sinful words making the butterflies in his stomach flutter, and the feeling in his vital regions spiral out of control.

France knew America was close, his panting breaths, eyes screwed shut in pleasure, quiet moans mixing in with loud ones, America's own hips unknowingly rocking against his own. And France was not far behind, sharing this intimacy with his love was more than he thought it would ever be and he could feel himself balancing on the knifes edge.

"Alfred. Alfred mon chere." There was a quick tug to his length, a pinch to his hardening nipple, and a nibble to his sensitive earlobe. "Cum for me." With the pleasure overwhelming his senses, and that soft velvety voice whispering such hot dirty words, Alfred felt himself descend the icy spiral of orgasm, his entire body tensing as the shock ran through is body from toes all the way to his head, moaning so loudly he was sure anyone near by would hear it clearly. And then France, a quiet grunt and a bite to America's neck as he to spilled his seed into the water.

America leaned onto France, his body tired, arms loosening from around his neck and gently moving down his chest. He felt France lean down and kiss the top of his head, sighing and suddenly leaning forward, his hands wrapping around America and cradling him like a baby. "We seem to have dirtied the water." France grunted as he lifted America out of the water, holding his body close.

America shivered as the cold air hit is warm sensitive skin. France walked them out of the tub and over to the wall where he set America down on his feet on a towel, before wrapping the shivering man in another plush towel. America pulled the towel around his body tightly, trying to get warm.

He watched as France dried himself off, his lean porcelain skin now clearly visible for America. He was entranced, watching beads of water roll down that smooth back. Those long gentle limbs moving with such grace, the lean muscles rippling under flawless white skin.

France saw America's eyes wandering over his body and he smiled over to him. "I'm glad you like what you see Alfred. I will admit, I was some what worried." America frowned as France ruffled his hair with the towel trying to dry it off. America began drying himself off as well, ruffling his hair first, then moving to his torso and extremities.

It was France's turn to watch. France had seen America's body before of course, more than a few times now, but he thought he felt like he would never get bored of it. America scowled and turned around finishing his drying as France hung his towel. He pulled the towel out of America's hands hanging it up and lifting the younger man up again and walking him to the room, setting his precious cargo down on the bed.

America felt tired as soon as he hit the bed, his body cushioned by fine linen as France walked away, blowing out the lanterns that lit the room, leaving only a few to keep the darkness at bay. He walked around the bed and rolled under the covers, pulling America against his lean body. He kissed America slowly, tongue running across the soft lips of America almost begging for entrance. It felt just as America remembered, France's skilled tongue caressing and playing with his own, making his mind blank as France wiped all his worries away. It felt like hours before the two broke apart, slightly panting and flushed. France kissed America's forehead sweetly before lying back down and pulling the smaller blond closer.

America smiled, snuggling against France's body as he had imagined each night on the ship here.

"Goodnight Alfred. Je t'aime" France closed his eyes a soft breath leaving his mouth as he settled down.  
"Goodnight Francis…" America felt like he needed to reciprocate the last words, but he found they stuck on his tongue, no matter how hard he tried he just couldn't. He wasn't sure if France was waiting for the same words, or if he had simply wanted to wish him goodnight, but America gave up, closing his mouth and eyes and trying to let sleep wash over him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God I hope this was ok!  
> Let me know what you think!
> 
> Also! I have started a tumblr account specifically related to my writing. I'll be updating you on what's going on with which stories, possibly posting previews of new stories or new chapters, and of course posting and reblogging lots of pictures of my related fandoms.
> 
> Mostly, this is my way of interacting with the readers, getting opinions and, updating you on what i'm doing. So go look for me? fred-the-moose (dot) tumblr (dot) com
> 
> -Majestic Moose Out-


	3. Accepting it, Embracing it, Saying it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JEZUZ MOTHERFUCKINGCHAINSAWCHRIST I AM SORRY!  
> I really, truly, and honestly did not mean to take this long!  
> Please. Enjoy!

Over the next several days France and America began to form a new routine. When America unsurprisingly woke before France he would tip toe downstairs to the kitchen and ask for breakfast to be brought to the room. He’d round the corner of the hall to the left and ask the maid to fill the bath tub, and head back upstairs to cuddle with France.  
When the sun had risen to a reasonable height America would rub his still cold feet over France’s. If that didn’t wake the sleeping man, America would flop himself over Frances torso and blow air up his nose, being as annoying as possible.   
He’d wait in bed while France bathed and finished his morning routine sipping mint tea brought up by the maids with breakfast, and when France emerged from the bathroom bright and cheery he’d wait for the older blond to fall into the bed and kiss him silly.  
Eventually Marin would barge into the room, roll his eyes and insist France continue his work, and America make himself ready for more French lessons. France seemed to work most of the day, leaving America to wander the property, explore the garden, and spend more than enough time in the vast library.  
At night, France would call for America and they would have dinner and tea, talking and of course flirting till late into the night. But what America really liked about the day, almost as much as waking up beside France, was sitting side by side in the bed at night reading. France was currently reading some horrid erotica that America couldn’t bear to read for more than a few seconds. Even with Frances terrible choice in books, America loved the amiable silence, the closeness, the normality of it all. He took a great deal of pleasure knowing that each night he would fall asleep beside this man, and wake up with him in the morning.  
However, since that time in the bath, France had hardly touched him. Except for their morning make out session France never made any moves towards the younger nation. Flirted, of course. But never acted, and it was beginning to bother the younger man.  
It took several more days before America pulled together the courage to ask. It was late at night, France was still reading that damned erotica, when he placed his book gently on the side table and nudged the older man’s arm with his own.  
France put the book down on his lap immediately, his attention solely focused on the blue eyed beauty beside him.  
“Francis… You still… like me… oui?” He fidgeted with the bed sheets pulled up over his legs, looking anywhere but France.  
“Of course mon ange. Alfred, what would make you think otherwise?”  
“It’s just that… lately you haven’t… you know… tried anything…” America’s hand came to absently scratch at his temple, keeping his hands busy in his nervousness.  
France sighed, placing the book on his own side table before rolling towards America.  
Faster than he could have said ‘holy hamburger’ America found Frances arms around his waist, pulling him towards the French nation. France smiled, arranging the American with a leg on either side of his so the smaller man could sit and straddle his lap.  
“Alfred. Physical intimacy is not the only way to show your love.” On hand rested on America’s thigh, while the other came up to stroke his cheek. “Of course it is by far my favourite… but not the only way. When we share dinner and talk. Right now, sitting together, enjoying each other’s company. These are ways I show my love for you as well.” He moved his hand to behind America’s neck, pulling him forwards and placing a chaste kiss on his forehead before letting him sit up once again. “When you start the bath and ask for breakfast so it’s here when I wake up. I know that you love me, because you do these things for me.”  
America nodded. Knowing this was truth. “But you used to… you know… you did before…”  
France sighed again, both hands now on America’s thighs, thumbs rubbing circles as he composed his own thoughts.  
“I have been waiting for you mon ange. I know you struggle with our intimacies. I figure, if I take a step back, you will have time to adjust, and maybe come to me on your own. I don’t want to rush you into this. I love you, and I want you to feel comfortable with me. Not think I will roll you over at any moment and have my way with you. I need you to trust me, Alfred.” It was Frances turn to be nervous.  
America breathed in his relief. Good. It wasn’t that Frances was unpleased with him!  
So now what?  
If France was waiting for America to bring himself to France he’d had to do just that.   
And so he did. Leaning in quickly and sealing his lips to Frances. Although surprised, the Frenchman didn’t miss a beat, wrapping his arms around the American and parting his lips, smirking into the kiss as America did the same, allowing his tongue to playfully slide into the warm cavern that was America’s mouth.  
They broke apart to breathe, the younger blond looking up with a faint smile. “Just a little tonight.” He spoke softly, holding up his hand with his thumb and index finger indicating how much a little was.  
“Tell me when it’s too much.” France answered back before leaning in for another kiss.   
America’s shirt was the first thing to go, France slipping fabric over buttons till the younger man’s shirt was sliding off his shoulders. He groaned into America’s mouth as his long slender fingers caressed the newly exposed skin.  
France could hardly believe the situation. America’s pliant body presented to him willingly, the American blushing heavily as they broke apart once more.  
France took that moment to roll them over; smirking at America’s flushed face beneath him. His eyes flicked over the younger man’s body memorizing each inch of pale skin as his hands descended. Flicking a nipple brought a gasp, daring France to repeat the action. The harsh pants spurred him on France lowered his mouth to the perky nipple, loving the gasp and moan as his tongue swirled over the bud. He could feel himself hardening as his hands went to work untying the strings just barely holding on the younger man’s pants. A breathy sigh as the loose fabric was pulled bask knees, and finally ankles, France throwing it behind him to the floor.  
Another groan pulled France back to his task on hand, mouth once again descending on the pale chest of the shivering American. His hands wondered the younger man’s torso briefly before moving on towards their goal, waiting no time teasing as skilled fingers wrapped around the American’s arousal.   
“Francis.” Those pale blue eyes flickered open, slightly hazed in lust as his hands left the blankets in favour of Frances neck, pulling that sinful mouth back to his own.  
France broke the kiss with a smirk, kissing down America’s jaw, his neck, stopping to nibble at the smooth collar bone before moving over his chest. Lips kissing, tongue laving, and teeth nipping their way down his torso.   
A nip at America’s hip bone caused a gasp and shiver, his thighs parting ever so slightly as France moved lower still.  
“Francis… wait-”  
France looked up; mouth open, hot breath ghosting over the tip of America’s straining erection.  
And he waited. Eyes locked with the pale blue of America’s.  
France smirked as a soft whine escaped from between the trembling lips of America.  
Taking his cue France closed his mouth over the hot, damp head of America’s cock. America seemed to come alive, unable to stay still, legs spreading wider for France, hands threading through France’s ruffled hair. France’s tongue flicked around the head relishing the constant stream of gasps and mewls from above. Tasting, and licking before sliding off the head, mouthing wet kisses down his length, absorbing the heat coming off him with his lips.  
He could feel the pale thighs trembling beneath his fingers as his mouth continued, licking up his lengths with a languid patience that surprised even himself. He plunged his mouth back down, feeling America’s hips buck up into the warmth ever so slightly.   
With clear instruction to continue France began to suck in earnest, reaching under the mattress as discreetly as possible.  
America could hardly contain himself, throwing his hand over his face in embarrassment. Through his moans he was distantly aware of a click and snap but it never quite registered in his lust induced haze. France’s mouth was doing such wonderful things, tongue swirling over his most sensitive parts.   
And then there was a nudge at an even more sensitive part. America’s eyes shot open, throwing his hand from his face as he looked in shock towards France. His eyes were soft as he released America’s length from his mouth, slick finger circling around his hole.  
“I can show you even greater pleasures, if you’ll let me.” France spoke softly, accentuating his words with another light nudge, his other hand still stroking his arousal.  
“I… but…” America took a deep breath closing his eyes and biting his lip as he nodded slowly.  
“Mmm thank you.” Was whispered before Frances mouth returned, taking America to the hilt and swallowing around him. America screamed, the sudden pleasure distracting him as Frances pale digit swirled around his tensed hole several times before oh so slowly nudging in.  
At first it was strange, the foreign feeling of something moving inside him, but Frances hot mouth continued creating more pleasurable sensations to distract him. It didn’t take long for France to work his finger inside, his own length growing impossibly harder as his finger slid in and out of America’s pliant body.  
A gasped “Ohh!” informed France of his success. America’s eyes flying open in shock as Frances finger brushed over his prostate.  
More pants and gasps from the younger man, his body moving uncontrollably, bucking up into the damp heat of Frances skilled mouth and pushing back onto the single finger provided by the Frenchman.  
France groaned in response sending vibrations down the American’s length and deep into his core.  
Frances name became like mantra flowing from America’s lips as France continued his work with renewed vigor, making sure to brush that bundle inside of his love on each stroke.  
France groaned again as he watched America’s body go taught, body freezing as the orgasm ripped through is body, eyes squeezed shut mouth gaping open in a silent moan as France milked his length.  
As the spent blond relaxed against the bed France removed his finger, wiping it on the edge of the bed. Smiling down at the expended American panting on his bed.  
He made to move off the bed, one leg already on the floor when America’s arm shot out grasping France’s own strongly. Eyes now open wide opened his mouth but no words came.  
He tried again. Taking a breath before starting. “Where are you going?”  
France smiled down placing his own larger hand over America’s. “Just to the bathroom. Go to sleep. I’ll join you in a moment.”  
France expected the younger man to react much the same way he had last time they had been in this situation, smiling back and settling down in bed. However this was not what happened.  
America sat up, frown on his face. “No.”  
France looked back, surprise clear on his face lost for words until America leaned forwards, wrapping his arms around Frances waist and pulling him onto the bed.  
“I want to return the favour.”  
And who was France to argue with such a request. And so he allowed the brash nation to push him back on the bed, heart beating a little faster in excitement at the mischievous glint in those pale blue eyes.  
Frances own blue orbs watched in anticipation as America went to work, pulling the older man’s pants down and off, looking back to his goal.  
It happened faster than France could process, groaning in pleasure as America bent at the waist and engulfed his wanting erection. He pulled off, tongue laving over the sensitive slit before diving back down. France was lost in the pleasure, hand entwining in America’s soft hair, encouraging that hot mouth to continue.   
France had at most expected a hand job, but this… this enthusiastic sucking and licking, no matter how inexperienced, was more than anything France could have wished for.   
“It’s ok if you can’t take it all mon chere. Just use your hand where you can’t.” France explained when he noticed America beginning to struggle. The younger man hummed in acknowledgement, making France tense taking a deep breath to keep himself from coming. It wouldn’t be long at all, not when the young blond followed his advice, putting more effort into what he could reach with his mouth, tongue spiraling around his shift, licking the pre-cum from the tip with sloppy sounds. His hand now working the lower half, squeezing and stroking with the same vigor as his mouth.  
“Oh god, Alfred. Just like that. Such a good boy.”   
And then he sucked his cheeks in, applying a suction that hadn’t been there before, tugging and stroking France towards orgasm.  
“Alfred. I’m close. So close. Alfred look at me.” France practically begged as he inched close to the edge.  
America did, eyes intently focused up at France’s, his mouth still working, eyes hazy and defiant, daring France to last longer.  
He didn’t.  
Groaning America’s name as his hands tightened in the younger man’s hair, trying his best not to hold the blond there as he emptied his seed into that warm mouth.  
America pulled away when France was finished, rolling onto his back and coughing a bit before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.  
France recovered quickly, rolling over beside America and pulling the talented man against him.  
“You did so well Alfred. Thank you.” He gave the American a chaste kiss on the lips before hugging him close again.  
America smiled nuzzling his nose into Frances neck, his own arms coming up to wrap around the older man. “Thank you, Francis.”  
\---------------------------- ---------------- ---------------------------- --------  
When America woke in the morning he had to remind himself why he was naked, and was pleased to find himself still snuggled safely in France’s arms.  
He had to admit, last night had been amazing, not just because of the magic of France’s mouth, but the new experience France had given him. He had trusted the older blond, and France had delivered, showing America a new kind of pleasure he never could have thought of before.  
And from just one finger.  
If he thought on it long enough, he had rather enjoyed his own actions. Servicing France with his mouth had been far more pleasurable than he had thought. And watching France as he came was more than reward enough.  
He sighed, deciding that he had lazed around in bed long enough, and it was time to get up. He wiggled out of Frances arms, leaning on the bed just long enough to look at the sleeping man before making himself decent and making his way to the kitchen.  
He stole a mini croissant while the kitchen attendant wasn’t looking and nibbled it on his way to the bath. Thankfully, today the maid, Julia, was quick and had the bath prepared by the time he crept quietly into the room.  
He was half way through his routine when France’s head popped in the shower. America turned around quickly, smiling when he noticed the groggy Frenchman. He giggled and nodded when France began pointing at himself and then the tub, gesturing back and forth, clearly asking for permission.  
When the older blond entered the tub America greeted him with a ‘good morning’ and quick peck, before insisting the older man turn around so America could wash his hair and back.  
America had already lathered and rinsed Frances hair and was working on scrubbing his back when France was finely awake enough to participate in conversation.  
“Mmm, I could get used to this.” He spoke, head falling forwards as his muscled flexed beneath nimble fingers.  
“Don’t.” America replied quickly, smiling as he let go of the cloth and started splashing the water away.  
“A man can only hope.” Came the sighed reply. “Would you like to go into town today? Perhaps get some ice cream?”  
Of course America agreed, who didn’t love ice cream. So after France returned the favour giving America a much more sensual rub down, they dressed and made their way into town.

The ice cream was better than anything he had ever tasted in Brittan. And the shop keeper had even complimented him on his clothing. He had turned to France and stuck out his tongue because France had called it an ugly plain old thing when America had picked it out that morning.  
They walked through the park after eating the ice cream and America had been brave enough to let France hold his hand for a bit. They talked of politics, they talked of sport. They debated philosophical discoveries, and even had an argument about how a newly arrested murder should be punished. It had made America’s day, France had not only listened to his points and opinions, but had rebuttals ready, validating his statements even if the other man didn’t agree.  
The ended the day with a walk through the house gardens, sharing a kiss before France admitted he needed to do a bit of paper work before the end of the day, and so America retreated to the library which he found was his new favourite place.  
Later in the night, France poked his head through the door calling America’s name. When the younger man looked up France pushed his arm into the room, shaking the bottle of wine he held and wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.  
America put his book down and came to the door, nudging France out of the way.  
“Race you!” He yelled before taking off down the hall, leaving France in his wake.  
The wine went rather quickly, and it wasn’t long before France was drunk, giggling and losing his balance as they sat in bed together.   
It was America who started the kisses. Leaning forwards and missing Frances mouth completely, blushing in apology as France pressed forwards to seal their lips instead. They just kissed, sharing languid open mouth kisses, hot breaths, and slick tongues in their drunken fog.  
“I feel like a young teen again.” France spoke after a break in kisses, smiling towards the ceiling.  
“Me too.”  
France gently swung his arm into America’s chest, hearing a satisfied ‘uff’ before he spoke. “You still are young.”  
America sat up, looking down into Frances eyes. “So are you.”  
France scoffed hand stoking America’s cheek. “Hardly. I shouldn’t have to remind you, I could be your father.”  
His eyes darkened a little, America leaning closer and kissing him gently. “Don’t be silly Francis.” Another kiss and the conversation ended in favour of wet kisses and roaming hands.  
\---- ------------------- ------------------------ --------------------  
It had been several weeks since then that America found himself lying awake in bed. France had fallen asleep long ago and breathed softly beside the fidgeting American. His mind had been turning in overdrive since that afternoon and he hadn’t been able to shut it off.  
It had all started several hours prior, America and France casually playing croquet on the back lawn on the warm sunny day. America couldn’t even remember what he said at this point. He wasn’t sure it really mattered. But it had made him look up, and something clicked inside the American. Looking towards France, stray hairs fluttering in the breeze, croquet mallet swung over his shoulder, smiling towards the frozen American.  
He didn’t know why, or how, but as America’s mind reeled from the image, he made a very important discovery.  
He was in love with France.  
He wasn’t sure when it had happened, how long he’d actually felt that way, heck, maybe he’d felt that way since the very beginning. Since that first time France whispered the words ‘Je t'amie.’ It didn’t matter, what mattered was that right there. And right then, America realized it himself. He loved France. So much. And there was nothing he wouldn’t give to spend the rest of his life with the smiling Frenchman. It had taken all off his willpower not to go running to France, all but throwing himself at the older man and telling him to take him to bed.  
And so here he was in bed, lying beside the most amazing thing that had ever come into his life. And trying to think of how to finally let him know. America wasn’t stupid, he knew France loved him, would be thrilled, but he also knew how long he’d been waiting to hear America say the words. It had to be serious.  
Maybe he’d just try it first. Test the words. And so he scooted close to France, his love, and whispered as quietly as he could. “I love you.”  
There, see. It wasn’t that hard.  
Again. “I love you.” A little louder that time.  
And again. “I love you.” Louder still, almost in his normal speaking voice. It felt so good to finally say.  
The younger blond rolled onto his back. “I am seriously in love with you.” He spoke to the ceiling.  
“Say that to my face you sly minx.” Came the quiet mumbled reply.  
America sat up in shock. Looking down at his partner, one eye open, smirking up at the startled American.  
“I… Francis… So…” His heart was pounding out of his chest, hands suddenly finding the blankets very interesting as his mind reeled.  
“Tell me Alfred.” France spoke softly, other eye opening rising to lean on his elbow, full attention on the younger blond.  
“I-” He swallowed. Why was it so hard now? “I love you…I love you Francis.”  
And then the Frenchman pounced, springing forwards and stealing a kiss from the American with so much energy they both fell back on the bed, France smiling down at the blushing American.  
“Je t’aime Alfred. Moi aussi.”  
And then his lips were on America’s again, unable to keep his happiness at bay as he straddled the panting man beneath him.   
There was no objection as Frances hands went to work on America’s shirt, breaking the kiss just long enough to pull the offending garment off before teeth and tongues clashed once more. America too seemed more enthusiastic, Frances night shirt already unbuttoned and sliding from his shoulders as Frances mouth moved down the slightly tanned jaw and neck presented for him.  
America’s gasps and sharp intakes of breath spurred him on as he kissed and nipped his way down the smooth chest lips latching over a pert nipple causing a high pitched moan to escape America’s lips. How had he gotten heated so fast, America didn’t know but his pants were too restricting already and it wasn’t long before he put his hands to work divesting himself and France of their remaining clothing.   
They both groaned as their lengths brushed France taking the opportunity to grind against the younger man’s, kissing him again as America moaned at the contact.   
Frances mouth once again found the younger blonds nipple, teeth gently nipping at the bud as America’s hands made their way into Frances hair, gently tugging the hairs at the base of his neck, making him groan in want over the pink nub.  
“Francis… Francis more. Please. I want more.”  
France’s hips jerked involuntarily at the words, his own groan flowing from his mouth.   
“Of course mon ange.”   
He wasn’t going to last much longer. And by the sound of the pants and mewls from his younger counterpart, neither way he. And so France got right to the good stuff, slicking a finger and rubbing against that soft puckered entrance, braking the kiss to look into America’s eyes for any sign of protest.  
There wasn’t, and so France proceeded, slipping the slick digit inside the America, delighting in the low moan from America’s kiss swollen lips. He continued his ministrations from before, lips finding the other pink bud and sucking it into his mouth, a second finger joining it’s mate in stretching the moaning blond.   
France brought his spare hand from America’s waist, long fingers sliding so casually around America’s weeping erection, practically begging for attention.  
The younger man got louder. Moans and groans flowing from his mouth between unintelligible words as the third and final finger slid into America’s pliant body.  
France took it as a sign when America began pushing back, his hands gripping France’s shoulders as he impaled himself on Frances talented fingers.  
“Please Francis. I need you. Please.” America pleaded, the sweat making his bangs stick to his forehead making him somehow impossibly more attractive. So France reached for the lube, slicking himself quickly before leaning over the panting American.  
“Ready, mon chere?” He questioned, lining himself up, nudging ever so slightly at America’s entrance.  
“Yes.” The verbal answer was accompanied by a nod, and it was more than enough for France, groaning as he pushed into the tight heat of America.  
America’s face was screwed in pain, teeth clenching as France suck deeper into him. Words of encouragement and love were whispered to America, promising much more pleasure than pain in a moment.   
Slowly, so slowly is was almost driving France insane, he pulled out, pushing back in with the same intense slowness, trying to make it most comfortable for the younger nation. His face was more relaxed now, but he still bit his lip, nail still digging crescents into Frances back as he slowly picked up speed.  
Frances hand returned to America’s slightly wilted erection, stroking it back to full attention as his mouth lavished kisses and licks to the man’s neck and chest.  
Then there was a catch in America’s breath, hardly loud enough to hear but France caught it, picking up speed again, aiming for the same spot on each stroke. America’s breath became more ragged on each thrust, the catches of breath turning into soft moans and quiet mewls.  
“Do you feel it Alfred? Building inside you?” France asked between licks, lips once again finding a sensitive nipple.  
“Yea.” Panted America, eyes now closed from pleasure instead of pain, his hands gripping Frances shoulders for an entirely different reason now.  
“Do you feel me in you Alfred. Filling you up on every thrust.” The words were whispered into America’s ear, hot breath gusting over a sensitive earlobe before Frances teeth bit down gently.  
America moaned, hips bucking up into Frances hand, his body moving on its own now, pushing back against France’s thrusts.   
The hand was delicate, but strong as it stroked his aching length.

His eyes shot open in pleasure to see soft blue ones looking right back

His nails scraping down his back, leaving the pale skin angry and red.

Long pale fingers pinching a nipple making pain pleasure.

Grabbing onto long, silky hair he had come to love.

The voice, whispering words of praise and love.

He cried out Frances name as they came, happy he didn’t have to pretend anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ASDFGHJKL it's over!  
> Again, sorry for the wait, I'm sorry, I love you and appreciate you.  
> BUT it's finished now. Your welcome.
> 
> -Majestic Moose Out-

**Author's Note:**

> Please Please Please give me some feedback on this!


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